The Hero and the Ghost
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: Alfred Jones, aka "The Hero" is a fighter pilot in WWII. His brother Matthew, known as "Ghost", is a bomber pilot. When a dangerous mission results in a near-fatal injury for Matt, Alfred's blame is put on his brother's temporary copilot, Ivan Braginski.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: **Ah, World War II. How you fascinate me so.

This story, "The Hero and the Ghost", was inspired by the movie "Memphis Belle". It's a very good movie (I recommend it for anyone who loves World War II aviation; bombing in particular).

Anyways, enjoy. This story will probably be a shorter one, but will have multiple chapters. I'm going to guess it won't go over 10 chapters.

**Xxx**

Alfred Jones couldn't help but smile as he felt the familiar deceleration of his fighter plane, nicknamed "Little Lady Jones", on the runway as he landed after what was yet another successful mission. Once his plane was in its hangar, he hopped out of the cockpit, removing his hat and grabbing his glasses out of his pocket. Yes, glasses. His vision, though good, was not perfect.

He found it funny; nineteen successful missions had gone by with not-so perfect vision, and no copilot. It was uncommon for anyone to ridicule him for his skill though; in his entire aviation career since the beginning of American fighting in Europe, he had downed thirty-eight German fighters. Yeah, he was an ace. And yeah, he showed it.

He grinned and shook hands with a nearby officer, who congratulated him on yet another successful mission, before allowing him to head out to the edge of the runway, where more planes were coming in one at a time. As a bomber landed, Alfred turned to the officer.

"Ghost land yet?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Not that I've seen. He may still be in the air." The officer responded.

"He better get back down here soon. It's getting dark." Alfred looked to the skies, searching for the remaining bomber in the sky.

When he spotted a black mass approaching, he smiled.

"There he is." He commented, pointing out the plane. As it came closer to the runway, decelerating and lowering its altitude, the white paint on the side came into view. "The Ghost Bomber", the paint read. The large aircraft was soon on the ground and parked in its respective place; the crew then began to emerge from the hatch at the side of the plane.

The first to exit was the Right and Left Wing Gunners, Lovino and Feliciano Vargas. Twins from New York; they were of Italian ancestry, if Alfred remembered correctly. The next to get out was the Tail Gunner, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Alfred found it funny; the guy's grandparents were from Germany. After Gilbert came the guy who ran the Top Turret; Raivis Galante. The kid's parents were from Latvia, but since no one could remember Raivis' name, everyone just stuck to calling him "Royce". Once the short Latvian was out, the stoic man who was the guy to release the bombs emerged; Luke Johansson, an extremely tactical guy with ancestry out of Norway. Then came the talkative man of Polish descent who worked the radio, Feliks Łukasiewicz. Finally, out of "The Ghost" emerged the copilot and the pilot. The copilot was the ladies-man Francis Bonnefoy, who was half French.

The pilot was the calm and quiet brother of Alfred; Matthew. Though many simply knew Matthew as "Ghost", Alfred was one of the few who actually knew his name.

Alfred approached his older brother with a grin, hugging the smaller-framed bomber pilot tightly.

"You made it back." He said. Matt nodded.

"Yeah… I am so tired. I'm just going to head straight to the barracks to sleep." He replied, starting to walk towards a jeep. Alfred followed, hopping in the driver's seat of the jeep as Matt got in the passenger's. The elder bomber pilot waved a quick goodbye to his crew before Alfred started driving down the side of the runway towards the barracks.

Once they arrived, the two got out of the jeep and headed in the building. Matt plopped down on his bunk, and Alfred sat on his bunk beside the other pilot.

"How many did you shoot down today, Al?" Matthew asked. Alfred grinned.

"Three. It was a good day." He responded. Matt chuckled a bit.

"Get some sleep, Al. We have work to do tomorrow."

"What are we doing?"

"You should know this by now, Alfred. You have touch-ups to do on your bus*, and I have touch-ups to do on mine." Matt rolled onto his side as he spoke, looking to his younger brother.

"Oh, right. I thought you meant something important, like a briefing or some training." Alfred chuckled a bit, scratching the back of his head. Things like working on his plane were routine to him; it wasn't even considered work to him anymore.

Matt shook his head and smiled, rolling back over onto his back. He was still dressed in his pilot's uniform, but disregarded it and closed his eyes.

"Night Matt." Alfred said. Upon receiving no response from his bomber pilot brother, he sighed a little and reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He stuck the end of the cigarette into his mouth and lit the other end, taking a drag of his stress reliever. Cigarettes were issued to every soldier on the base; Alfred even got extra from his brother because Matthew refused to smoke. Alfred never asked why; his older brother had his quirks.

Once he finished his cigarette, he tossed it to the floor and smashed it with his shoe, before standing and undressing himself. Once he was down to his underwear, he lay down in his bed and covered up in the thin blanket he had been issued.

When the morning came, an officer barged into the barracks to awaken the many men who were sleeping in their bunks.

"Rise and shine, men! Get yourselves dressed and get to work!" Alfred stopped listening to the officer after those few shouts and slowly crawled out of bed. He got dressed in his uniform, and as he was tying his tie, he felt a hand on his right shoulder. He looked over that shoulder and took notice of the officer he had been ignoring.

"Did you hear me, Jones?" The man questioned.

"No, sir. I wasn't paying attention." Alfred answered honestly.

"Well then, I'll repeat. After breakfast, you and your brother are to be in Major Dempsey's office. Once you're done there, you can go about your usual day. Did you hear me this time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." With that, the officer left. Alfred finished tying his tie then let out a long breath. His older brother was already up and heading out the door of the barracks into the morning light. Damn early riser Matt was.

Alfred soon followed in the footsteps of his bomber pilot older brother, walking out the door and heading a few buildings away to the mess hall.

Upon entering the mess hall, Alfred didn't notice anything different than usual. Matthew had gotten his breakfast and had taken his seat at the same rectangular table as always with the other nine men in his crew. An odd bunch the "Ghost" had for a crew. They ranged in size and personality, as well as ancestry. They were all American citizens, yes, but some bore accents from their parent's native tongues being used so often around them in the past.

Alfred got in line for his breakfast, grabbing a tray and some silverware, moving down the line as the rather disgusting food was plopped onto his plate. Once he had his fair share, he took a seat at his usual table.

He was soon joined by a few other guys; some fellow fighter pilots who were more like adoring fans than fellow soldiers. Alfred was an ace pilot; people recognized that and treated him like a celebrity. Meanwhile the intimidating aura of the unapproachable "Ghost Bomber" crew remained unwavering, no one not in the said crew going near them. It was just the way things worked.

Somehow, Alfred overshadowed his older brother. Maybe it was because he was just one man with such a great record, instead of ten men working together to achieve a success. People paid more attention to the younger Jones brother than the elder of the two.

Having been born in 1923, Alfred had seen some tough times, During the Great Depression, he chose to stay in his home city of Cleveland instead of retreat to Canada with his mother and older brother. Alfred and his factory-worker father couldn't have been more alike; they were both patriots, loving their country and the way it was run, even through the Great Depression. They always looked to the positive side of things, instead of dwelling on the bad. As for Matthew? Well, Matthew wasn't around during the Great Depression. Matt had gone to Canada to live, staying with their Aunt Sophie up until around 1940, when he returned to the United States.

Matt was only a year older than Alfred, but they looked near identical. Near-same facial features and body shapes; the only thing different was the way their hair was textured. Matt's had a slight wave to it, while Alfred's was straight. They both laughed each time someone asked if they were twins.

Alfred hadn't eaten much when he got up and disposed of his tray. He approached Matthew's table, just to talk to his brother and tell him that he was going to head to Major Dempsey's office. People who weren't aware that Matthew was his brother stared, but Alfred disregarded the eyes on him.

"Hey Matt, I'm going to head to Dempsey's office. I'll be waiting for you." He told his elder brother. Matthew simply nodded. Alfred walked off and exited the mess hall, being followed out by one of the new guys.

"Hey, what did you say to Ghost? Do you know him? No one I've talked to does." The other airman asked. Alfred stopped walking and turned around.

"Yeah, I know Ghost. If you want to know what I said, why don't you go ask him yourself?" He asked. Oh, how he loved teasing the new guys.

"Are you crazy? I'm not "The Hero" like you. I can't just walk up to that table and be all nosy like that! Not to those guys at least. They're Ghost's crew; I bet they're all serious and will want to attack me if I say anything to them."

"Haha, yeah, you're probably right. You should still go on up and meet them though."

"Are you saying you want them to beat me up?"

"I don't know. Find out for yourself." Alfred said with a shrug, starting to walk away. The other soldier made no attempt at response; Alfred loved new guys to death. It was so easy to trick them and mess with their heads.

Once Alfred got to Major Dempsey's office, he entered the small building with a smile.

"Morning Major." He greeted, saluting to the other man. Major Dempsey raised an eyebrow at Alfred.

"Where's Matthew?" He questioned.

"Still eating. I finished early; thought I'd come here and wait for Matt."

"Alright. Well, have a seat. We'll wait for your brother. Say, how many did you shoot down yesterday during your mission?"

"Three, sir."

"Good job. You keep racking up more and more kills… It's hard to believe you've only done nineteen missions. Six more and you'll be heading home."

"I don't like to talk about heading home. It's bad luck. You remember the last guy who got all excited about going home? He got killed. I'll keep my mouth shut about going home; all I care about right now is why the hell I'm in this office right now. Couldn't just be for a Roosevelt-esque fireside chat, could it?" Alfred asked, laughing a bit as he sat in the chair in front of the other man's desk. The Major chuckled.

"It is most definitely not to chat, Alfred. It's actually quite a serious matter. Not a bad serious like 'oh someone died' serious, but a good serious. A professional serious. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I do."

"Good."

A few moments later, Matthew entered the square building, saluting to the Major before sitting down in a second chair beside Alfred.

"Alright, boys. I'm quite aware that you two are the most professional and noticeable pilots we have here on base." Dempsey began. "It's hard to find two guys like you; dedicated and skilled. Alfred, I want to inform you that you will now be transferred over to a bombing squadron. Yesterday we lost a good pilot. We have no very experienced pilots left to fly bombers; which is why we need you. The next bombing mission is secret, only for you two to carry out. You must not tell anyone but your crews. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." The Jones brothers responded.

"Good. Your mission is to bomb a forested area in Germany where a large secret manufacturing facility is located." The Major took out a map and splayed it across his desk, pointing to a circled location in western Germany.

"It processes tanks," he continued. "And is heavily guarded by Anti-Aircraft guns, which will be dangerous to you guys, of course. But you're our best pilots. I trust that you, Alfred, can learn how to fly a bomber correctly within a day?"

"Wait, what? The mission is tomorrow?" Matthew interrupted, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yes, it is. And there's no backing out. You have to do this."

Matthew let out a sigh and looked to Alfred. "Are you sure you can learn to fly a bomber in a day?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. You'll show me the ropes, right? It can't be all that different from a fighter, can it?"

"Well, let's get out of here and get to work… You'll need a lot of knowledge of how these bombers work; they aren't quite as simple as a fighter."

"Well, what about a crew for me? I don't have one." Alfred turned to the Major for an answer.

"We already have a crew for you. They're a bomber crew that we scraped up from crews that were incomplete due to deaths and men going home."

"When will I meet them?"

"Today. Don't worry, they're all decent at what they do."

"Can I get some names and positions right now? Or will I have to wait until I meet them?"

"I can tell you now." The Major reached into a drawer in his desk and retrieved a piece of paper from it. He then started to read off who was on the paper.

"Well, first is your copilot. Berwald Oxenstierna, from some little farm in Colorado. His parents are from Sweden; he's a tall, buff guy. Just as American as us though. He may be hard to communicate with at first, so consider yourself warned. Next is your Navigator; Toris Lorinatus. He's from Chicago. Mild-mannered nice guy. You'll probably get along with him just fine."

"Let's see here… Your bomber man is another Mat. Mathias Kohler is his full name. Danish ancestry; lived in New Jersey before he came here. He's a lot like you, now that I think about it. All smiles. Anyways… Then there's your radio communicator, Sigmund Steilsson, also from New Jersey. You can probably guess he's got close ties to another nationality; Icelandic this time. Kind of standoffish, but for some reason the ladies love him."

"And then there's the youngest guy on your crew, the eighteen year old Peter Kirkland from Boston. Works your Top Turret. His father was a Brit; I find it funny. We're in Britain, he's part British. Anyways, he lacks a lot of experience, but he's reliable. Next is Heracles Karpusi, otherwise known as Hercules, coming from God knows where in California... He's your Ball Turret gunner of Greek ancestry. Sleepy guy, so you'll have to make sure he's awake every once in a while. He tends to sleep on the way to the target, wake up when it's time for action, then sleep again when the mission is over. He'll sleep sitting in the turret, according to his former crew members."

"Then there's Elliot Hedervary; everyone just calls him "Elly". He's a Hungarian descended Right Wing Gunner from Ohio. He's an Ohioan like you two. Except he's from Sandusky. You guys are from Cleveland. Close enough, right? Anyways… Next is Tomas Van Der Meer from South Dakota. As you can probably tell from his last name, he's got Dutch in him. You may want to be careful around him; he hasn't been liked very much despite the fact that he's a great Left Wing Gunner."

"And finally, you have your odd man out. Ludwig Beilschmidt. He's a German descended guy… Tail Gunner, just like his brother, who happens to be part of the "Ghost Bomber" crew."

"Well, isn't that a nice surprise? Gilbert will freak out when he finds out that he'll be going on a dangerous mission with his younger brother." Matthew commented.

"Thanks Major." Alfred said. "I'll be sure to try to remember all of them."

"Good. Now you two are dismissed. Matthew, it'd be best if you taught him how to fly a bomber. Introduce him to your crew; make sure you guys get acquainted, alright? Alfred, you'll meet your crew in two hours. Meet me back here then, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Alfred replied.

"Be on your way now, boys."

With that, Alfred and Matthew stood and exited the building. The sight of the two most prominent pilots on base walking beside eachother to the hangar where Matthew's "Ghost Bomber" was located must have given off some scary vibes to those who were watching them. Other men stared at them; "The Hero" Alfred Jones, and his brother simply known as Ghost to nearly everyone. Alfred didn't doubt for one second that the others knew something was up.

When they reached the bomber in its hangar, Matthew smiled.

"Well, here she is. The Ghost Bomber." He said, reaching up and patting the cold steel side of the huge aircraft.

"She looks rugged. She easy in the skies?" Alfred asked.

"She takes some getting used to, but hey, I'm Ghost. She's the Ghost Bomber. Only makes sense that I would be the pilot. You're probably going to get a bomber that's fresh off the line; you'll get to name her and all."

"I hope so. Let's hope our workers back in the States made the new planes correctly; I'd rather not have to crash land in Kraut-land. You know?"

"Yeah. Now come on, I'll show you the controls. It's different from a fighter of course, but I think you'll be able to memorize it easily. You're an ace, aren't you?" Matthew opened up the hatch on the underbelly of the bomber and climbed in.

"Well, they don't call me "The Hero" for nothing." Alfred replied, getting inside the aircraft as well.

"Alright, well, come on up here and you'll find the cockpit. Not so much room, but hey, it's not meant to be comfortable." Matt said, taking a seat in the copilot's seat. Alfred took the pilot's seat and set his hands on the controls.

Matthew went through many different aspects of the bomber, from the different controls, to the limits of how sharp you could turn. He also went over the parts of the bomber, which was basically unnecessary for Alfred since his knowledge of planes was pretty much the same as Matthew's.

Two hours passed for too quickly, and soon Alfred was heading back to Major Dempsey's office to meet up with his new crew. Matthew had stayed behind in the hangar to work with the "Ghost Bomber" crew and brief them slightly on their mission.

Upon coming into view of the other building, he saw ten men gathered outside of Major Dempsey's office, one of which was Major Dempsey. The other nine were Alfred's crewmates.

"Alright men, here is your new pilot." Major Dempsey motioned to the approaching younger Jones brother. "Many of you may know him as an ace fighter pilot; but now he's transferring over to bombers due to our shortage of experienced pilots."

"Morning, crew." Alfred greeted the nine men who would be in his crew. A few offered a 'good morning' back to him, but it was quiet. The Major continued.

"Your bomber is located in hangar D-62. There are some supplies in there if you would like to paint her up; she's a new bomber. Just arrived from overseas, so you won't have to do any maintenance. Head on out. Meet up with the "Ghost Bomber" crew when you're done with your bomber. Get acquainted; your mission requires total collaboration between bomber crews."

"Yes, sir." Was uttered between the ten men now forming the crew of a bomber.

Alfred smiled to himself as he started walking with his crew to hangar D-62.

Now he wasn't just an ace fighter pilot, but because of this turn of events, he was also a bomber pilot. Not an ace bomber pilot yet, but he was sure he would become one. With the help of these nine other men, he would become an ace in a different kind of flying.

Transferring from fighter to bomber? Couldn't be too hard. Or at least, that's what he thought.

**Xxx**

*bus- pilot slang for aircraft.


	2. Chapter 2

Later when the sun had set and the moon was high in the sky, the two crews of the "Ghost Bomber" and the newly-named "Lady Jones" were sitting around in hangar D-62. Alfred was listening to Matthew as he spoke to the nineteen other men in the dimly-lit hangar.

"Alright guys; this is a dangerous mission. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. It will be hard, and there most likely will be some rough edges. We don't know exactly how large our target is, or how heavily defended it is. All we know is that we only have our two bombers to try to take it out. We're going to go across the North Sea and enter hostile territory; Germany. Our target is located along the border between Germany and the Netherlands. It's hidden under foliage, but our bombs will go through the trees. Bombardiers Luke and Mathias; be sure you watch closely for any smokestacks or buildings. We only get one shot at this; there's no going back around for another try."

The two bombardiers nodded quietly.

"Once we drop our payload, we are to get out of hostile territory and return here to base. Hopefully we don't lose anyone. I know my crew; we're all on our twentieth mission. Alfred's crew; you're on various mission numbers. Alfred, I know you're also on your twentieth mission. Let's make this mission a good one; now go on and get some sleep. You'll need it, because there's no sleeping on the way there or on the way back."

Some of the guys left the hangar, heading to the barracks to doze off. Most wouldn't sleep though; this mission was one of the most dangerous ones ordered yet. Two Boeing B-17 Flying Fortresses versus anything hostile in German skies or on the ground was bad odds. Odds Alfred knew all too well. He accepted them; there was no reason not to. This was what he volunteered for.

He walked up to his brother with a smile.

"You ready for this, Ghost?" He asked. His elder brother nodded.

"As ready as I can be. And you, Hero?"

"I trust my crew will keep me in line." Alfred glanced to the few men of his crew that were still in the hangar.

"They're a decent crew. I know Berwald will keep you from doing anything wrong piloting-wise. He's survived two plane crashes in the twelve missions he's been on. He's the only survivor off of his most recently crashed plane "Colorado Queen". He and the pilot were good friends; such a shame to lose so many good guys."

"Yeah… But some things we just have to deal with. I know being in the sky in my fighter "Little Lady Jones", I've seen quite a few good guys get shot down right before my eyes. It's a sad thing, but I've carried on. They won't have died in vain."

"Well said, Hero. Let's head off to the barracks and get some sleep. We can't be tired in the morning." Matthew turned to the remaining crew members in the hangar. "That goes for you guys two. Get your asses to the barracks and get some sleep. I don't want anyone complaining that they're tired halfway to Germany."

The crew members scurried out of the hangar, followed by Alfred and Matthew.

"It's so weird to hear you being all authority-like." Alfred commented.

"Well, dealing with nine guys can be a hassle. You have to be strict. Especially with the young guys; the guys who haven't seen much action. This is probably a first for some of these guys; going into Germany like we are in the morning. I know in my crew the youngest guys are Feliciano, Lovino, and Raivis. They're all eighteen." Matthew responded.

"Anyone older than you?"

"Gilbert and Luke. Gilbert is twenty-six. Luke is twenty-four."

"You know the ages of anyone in my crew?"

"I know the oldest is Berwald. He's twenty-eight. And the youngest is Peter; he hasn't graduated high school yet. He's eighteen though."

"He looks sixteen."

"I'm sure he's been told that before."

When they got to the barracks, the majority of the men were lying in their beds, already trying to sleep. One of the men, a rookie fighter pilot named Tino, was on his knees beside his bed, praying. Alfred sighed sitting on the edge of his bed. Matthew went over to his and sat down, facing Alfred.

"Poor kid is terrified." Alfred commented on the rookie pilot, who noticed had shaking hands.

"He a fighter pilot?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah. New guy. I'm going to have a chat with him." Alfred stood from his bed and went over to the new fighter pilot, who had finished praying and was sitting on the edge of his bunk.

"Your name's Tino, right?" He asked. Tino looked up to him, nodding.

"Alfred Jones. The Hero." Alfred offered his hand to the younger pilot.

"Tino Väinämöinen…" Tino took the ace pilot's hand and shook it firmly.

"How old are you?" Alfred questioned.

"N-Nineteen."

"You have a mission tomorrow?" Alfred asked, sitting next to the rookie.

"Y-Yeah… Me and my squadron… We're going to be defending some bombers heading to Kassel, Germany…" Tino let out a shaky sigh. "We're goners, Jones… Th-The odds we'll come back alive; it's little to none…"

"Just do your job right, Tino, and you'll likely come back. I made it through nineteen missions as a fighter pilot; you're no different than me. You'll be fine."

"Y-You think so…?"

"Yeah. Get some sleep, alright? You'll need it."

"Thanks…" Tino smiled a little then lay down on his bed.

"It's not a problem." Alfred stood and headed back over to his bunk, undressing himself and lying down in bed.

"Night Matt." He said to his brother, who was already undressed and trying to sleep.

"Night Al." The other blonde muttered.

Alfred closed his eyes, and was soon asleep. When morning came, and an officer walked into the barracks to wake him, he was already awake. Sleep had hardly come to him; when he was lying in the dark his thoughts raged in his mind, preventing him from slumber. He knew he was overconfident in himself; flying a bomber was a whole other world. He was a fighter pilot, not a bomber pilot.

But there was no backing down. As he stood from his bed, he stretched.

"Up and at 'em you two; get dressed, get your crews, and get to your planes." The officer ordered. Alfred and Matthew both nodded. Once they were dressed, they headed out of the barracks and went to a different barracks, where their crews were.

They walked in and Matthew clapped his hands twice.

"Rise and shine, boys! Get yourselves dressed and ready to fly!" He ordered. The crews slowly rose from their places, getting dressed. Matthew and Alfred waited by the door.

"Once you're dressed, head to your respective hangars. My crew to hangar D-12, Alfred's to hangar D-62. Let's hurry up and get our asses ready; I'm sure all of you want to get this mission done and over with. The sooner we drop our bombs, the better. Let's move it; come on!" Matthew meandered around the barracks, trying his best to get the men up and ready to fly. Alfred wasn't used to seeing his brother so serious and demanding, but he guessed it was all part of being the pilot of a bomber plane.

After about ten minutes, everyone had gotten dressed and most were exiting the barracks. The few stragglers were hurried along by either Matt or Al, and soon everyone was heading to their planes.

Parked at the side of the runway, Alfred climbed into the hull of "Lady Jones" and made his way to the pilot's seat, followed by his crew. His copilot took a seat in the spot next to him while the rest of the crew hung around near their respective positions. Alfred slipped his gear on, as did his crew. Radios were on, and the check in was run.

"Alright boys," Alfred spoke into the radio. "Everyone check in. Pilot, check."

"Copilot, check." The man beside Alfred said, his voice deep and gruff.

"Navigator, check."

"Bombardier, check."

"Radio, check."

"Top Turret, check."

"Ball Turret… Check."

"Right Wing Gunner, check."

"Left Wing Gunner, check."

"Tail Gunner, check."

"Alright, everyone's here. Sig, radio to communications that "Lady Jones" is firing up." Alfred ordered. The Radio operator, Sig, listened and told the communications center on the base that they were starting up the plane.

"Let's get her running, Berwald." He said to the Swede beside him. Berwald merely nodded and started flipping switches. Alfred did as well, and soon the engines roared to life. The pilot smirked.

"Whole hell of a lot louder than a fighter." He commented.

"Engines are good t' g'. Fuel tanks full, everything's operational." Berwald ignored the comment, merely telling him that the systems were good to go.

"Sig, configure our station with "The Ghost Bomber"." Alfred commanded.

Within moments, the station was with that of his brother's plane.

"Ghost Bomber, this is Lady Jones checking in. Crew and plane are set to go." He informed.

"Lady Jones, this is Ghost Bomber. We are ready as well. Wait on signal from command and we'll take off first. Once up in the air, both of us are going to steadily climb to 10,000 feet and stay there. If there is cloud cover over our target we are to lower our altitude until we are able to see our target."

"Copy that, Ghost Bomber."

A new voice piped up on the radio.

"Lady Jones and Ghost Bomber, you are clear to position yourselves on the runway." It was an officer from communications. Alfred watched through the windshield as his brother's bomber pulled out onto the runway and was soon taking off.

"Let's get her rolling." Alfred muttered, accelerating the plane slowly forward, rolling out onto the runway. Once straightened out, he accelerated the plane more and soon he found himself flying the bomber up towards the sky, following his brother's lead.

Once both bombers reach 10,000 feet in the air, Alfred pulled the plane up beside Matthew's. He then gave an order to his crew.

"Alright, boys; we're at ten thousand. Oxygen masks on. I don't want anyone passing out up here." He said over the radio before putting on his own oxygen mask. He glanced to his silent copilot, who slipped his on.

"Ghost Bomber, how're you doing over there?" Alfred questioned the men in the plane flying beside his.

"We're all accounted for, and everything is running fine, Lady Jones. I'm going to halt communications with you until we're nearing hostile airspace." Matthew responded.

"Rodger that, Ghost Bomber." There was a click through the radio, and Alfred sighed. Now he had no one to talk to other than his own crew.

"Berwald, take over for a minute. I'm going to check on the crew." He told the man beside him, who merely nodded and flipped a switch, focused of the skies ahead.

Alfred stood from his seat and ventured back to the center of the plane, where his crew was located. Elliot and Tom were sitting on the floor next to their large machine guns, while Heracles and Peter were standing, talking quietly. Ludwig was hanging around in the back of the plane, leaning against the hull.

"I'm going to need everyone in position in about ten minutes, alright? May as well get in your spots now just in case. You never know when those Krauts are going to spot us." He informed. The crew went about getting to their spots, Tomas shutting the hatch to the ball turret over Heracles' head while Alfred headed back to the pilot's seat.

"Check in, everyone who is in position." He ordered over the radio.

"Navigator, in position." Toris was the first one to respond, obviously because he'd been sitting in in his spot at the side of the plane behind Berwald since they had been on the ground. He was calm and quiet, yet he had a reputation for being brave. The guy was on his seventh mission.

"Radio, been in position for a while." Sig didn't sound too thrilled about anything, but hey, it seemed like a pretty boring job running the radio, which was on the opposite side of Toris. Sig was a somewhat standoffish, easy-to-fluster nineteen year old. He was more mature than most his age and experience, having only been on three missions.

"Top Turret, in position." Peter was about the most cheerful guy on the plane. Being the youngest on the plane, he was also the least experienced, with only two missions to his name.

"Right Wing Gunner, in position." Elliot was a decent guy; brave and looked up upon. Alfred found it kind of funny how he actually enjoyed being called "Elly", which sounded much like a woman's name. But there was no judging a good ten-mission gunner for his nickname; Elliot was reliable, and that's what Alfred cared about.

"Left Wing Gunner, in position." Such a shady character Tom was. Alfred honestly didn't know much about the guy; he just knew that as a gunner, he was good, and that the six missions he had been on were no fluke.

"Bombardier, in position." Mathias was cheerful, but when he was in the air, he had a no-nonsense frame of mind. Alfred had connected well with the other blonde, despite the difference in experience. Mathias only had five missions under his belt.

"Ball Turret… in position." Heracles had proven he was a very sleepy fellow. Near Narcoleptic, actually.

"Hey, don't be falling asleep in there, you hear?" Alfred warned the seven-mission strong Greek.

"Rodger that…" Heracles muttered. Alfred sighed, knowing that Heracles would prove to be trouble if he fell asleep in the turret.

"Tail Gunner, in position." Finally, Ludwig checked in. The German descended American was a strong, easily-angered man with an absolute no-nonsense manner all the time. He followed every little regulation, which led to processes taking longer than usual. He was reliable though, and he showed it with fourteen missions to say he had completed.

"D' I have t' check in, hero?" Berwald asked as Alfred took over the controls once again.

"No, you don't. You're right beside me. I can see plain and clear that you're in position." Alfred responded.

"Just making sure. One of m' old pilots used t' make m' check in t' make sure I was in position."

"Heh… Hey Navigator, are we on course?" Alfred questioned the man behind Berwald over the radio.

"So far, yes. We're over the North Sea now, and should be in hostile territory in fifteen or so minutes." Toris responded.

"Alright. Be sure to watch for bandits* in the sky. I don't want anyone getting hurt. Ball Turret, do you have your safety strap on?" Alfred switched the conversation to his sleepy ball turret gunner.

"Yes, I have it on." Heracles responded.

"Good. Well, I'll shut up now."

Things were quiet for a little while before a shout came over the radio.

"Multiple bandits, low at nine o'clock!" Tom's voice was heard, and soon his machine gun was firing round after round at the incoming fighters. Heracles fired some shots at the enemies, as did Elliot once they were on the other side. Peter was able to get a few shots in, but nothing really effective.

"Lady Jones, this is Ghost Bomber, watch yourself. We are in hostile territory; multiple enemy fighters incoming straight ahead." Matthew's voice came over the radio.

"Bombardier, man the front turret! Multiple bandits coming in twelve o'clock!" Alfred ordered. Mathias was soon at the gun mounted at the nose of the plane, firing at what Alfred identified to be Focke-Wulf Fw 190's, a rather superior type of German fighter.

Alfred held tightly to the wheel of the plane, keeping it stable as they were shot at by the multiple fighters in the sky. Guns were blazing on both "The Ghost Bomber" and "Lady Jones", in attempts to shoot down the German aircraft. Crews radioed to eachother, informing where the enemies were.

After about ten minutes of constant attack, the remaining fighters that hadn't been shot down retreated. Alfred let out a sigh.

"Everyone alright?" He asked to both his crew and those on "The Ghost Bomber". When words was given that everyone was okay, Alfred let out a second sigh, this one of relief. He had just flown a bomber through an attack for the first time without a single casualty.

Some time passed, and soon word came in from the Navigator that their target was going to be coming into sight soon.

"Bombardier, arm the bombs and open the doors. Get ready to search for the target." Just as Alfred spoke, flak bombs began to dot the sky with black smoke and shake the planes heavily.

"Everybody hold on tight, we've got flak guns on the ground." He informed the crew.

"Bombs armed, hero. Returning to crosshairs to look for target." Mathias said.

"Rodger that. Ghost Bomber, is your bombardier ready?" Alfred asked Matthew.

"Luke is ready; stay on course, we're almost there." Matt replied. Alfred kept his hands steady, breathing slowly.

"Bandits, low at our six!" Ludwig called out, firing his gun at the rear of the plane. The fighters passed under the plane, before going way ahead and turning around, targeting "The Ghost Bomber".

A scream was heard over the radio; Alfred's breath hitched in his throat. Someone was hit on his brother's plane.

"My Copilot is hit, I repeat, my copilot is hit!" Matthew informed. Alfred tried to breathe easy, but it was hard. That easily could have been Matthew.

"What's the damage?" Alfred asked.

"He's hit in the side, but he'll live. He'll have to be treated without proper care by my radio operator and won't be able to fly; I now cannot move from the pilot's seat."

"Rodger that, Ghost." Alfred struggled to keep his eyes ahead as the guns blazed on both planes in the sky; the Germans were heavily defending this factory. There were fighters in the sky, flak guns firing from the ground, and Alfred couldn't do anything but fly the plane.

"Bombardier, what do you see?" Alfred asked Mathias.

"Trees… Trees… Trees… Smokestack… Wait, smokestack! We're over the target!"

"Drop the bombs!" Alfred ordered.

"Rodger that!" With the touch of a button, the bombs were released from "Lady Jones", soon followed by bombs being released from "The Ghost Bomber".

"Move on your own, Lady Jones. Let's get the hell out of here!" Matthew called over the radio.

Soon the two bombers were out of hostile territory, and all could relax. They lowered their altitude to the point where they didn't need oxygen masks anymore. Alfred then remembered Matthew's injured copilot.

"Ghost Bomber, how's your injured copilot?" He asked over the radio.

"He's stable, but we don't know if he'll stay like this for long." Matthew responded.

"Alright."

"Any injuries on the Lady Jones?"

"No. We're all fine."

When the two bombers returned to base in England, Alfred congratulated his crew on a successful mission before exiting the bomber, parked in its respective hangar. As everyone filed out of the bomber, Alfred inspected the damage on his plane. There were holes here and there, and plenty of dents from bullets that hadn't gone through the hull.

"You made it back intact, hero." An officer approached Alfred.

"Yeah… Flying a bomber is hard though; you're fighting the thing the entire time… Turbulence and flak and trying to keep the thing level… Ghost wasn't kidding when he said it wasn't as simple as a fighter…" Alfred responded, heading out of the hangar with the officer beside him.

"Say, who got hurt on "The Ghost Bomber" by the way? I saw the medic jeep pull up, but I didn't see who was hurt."

"It was Ghost's copilot. He got shot in the side; was incapacitated and couldn't fly. Ghost had to stay really focused on flying when Francis got injured…"

"Ah… We'll need a replacement then, huh?"

"Yeah, most likely."

"Hang on a minute… What's that?" The officer pointed up in the sky to a smoking mass approaching fast. Alfred grabbed the binoculars off of the officer's belt and held them up, looking through them.

"It's a fighter…" He muttered, trying to identify it through the black smoke.

"It's… It's not American, I know that…" He informed.

"Is it German?"

"No, it's not… I think… I think it's Russian."

"Russian? Why would a Russian fighter be all the way out here?"

"I'm not sure… Tell communications to let it land and help out whomever the hells in there; he's an ally, so we have to help him." 

He stood at the side of the runway, watching the smoking plane through his binoculars, as the officer ran over to the communications building.

When the plane came down and landed on the runway, the pilot crawled out and tumbled to the ground, crawling on his hands and knees away from his damaged fighter plane. Alfred hurried over to the man, who rolled over on his back, clutching his stomach.

"You alright, man?" He asked. The Russian didn't respond.

"Do you speak English?" Alfred questioned the man.

"Y-Yes… If you would b-be so kind as to drag me a-away from that plane, it w-would be nice." The man sounded slightly hostile, but Alfred complied, and dragged the man further away from the plane. A medic jeep rolled up, and they loaded the Russian onto a stretcher, soon having him on his way to the infirmary.

Alfred hopped in a jeep that was following the medic one, where the officer he had been previously been talking with was sitting. He turned to the other man.

"He's a Russian; speaks English. That's about all I know." He said.

"Well, we're about to find out more. While our medics work on him, we're going to question him." The officer replied.

When they got the infirmary, people were gathered around the Russian pilot. Medics worked on a shrapnel wound in his abdomen, while two officers and Alfred stood around.

"Where are you from?" An officer asked.

"Th-The Soviet Union…" The Russian replied.

"How did you end up here?"

"I was doing reconnaissance i-in Germany… but… I was found by Nazi fighters and I got too far into Germany… I-I couldn't turn around, and I had lost radio communications… I didn't want to crash land somewhere unsafe… S-So I pushed my plane to try t-to get here to Britain… I-I am lucky…"

"What is your name, Russian?"

"I-Ivan… Ivan Braginski… I am a-an ace pilot…"

"An ace?" Alfred piped into the conversation.

"D-Da… forty-three c-confirmed kills…"

"Well I'll be damned…" Alfred muttered.

"Y-You're a pilot, right..? How many kills do you h-have?" Ivan asked.

"Thirty-eight." Alfred scoffed a bit; he didn't like seeing a Russian with a higher kill score than he had.

"Anyone o-on this base have m-more than that?"

"No." Alfred replied. Ivan chuckled a bit.

"Looks like I-I am the better ace."

"Shut up, you stupid Red."

"Ah, but that i-is my nickname, American. "Krasnyĭ"… It means r-red…"

Alfred shook his head and made a hasty exit. He got bad vibes from that guy even when Ivan was injured.

He truly didn't like having another ace on the base, let alone one with more kills than he had.

**Xxx**

*bandits- enemy aircraft


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: **Been a while since I updated this, huh? Well, I had this chapter done a long time ago, but then my flash drive got stolen, and never returned. So I had to rewrite this. Took me long enough, huh?

Since I keep forgetting who's who, and I made a critical error in the 1st chapter of this story, I'm going to list in these author's notes the crews of both the Ghost Bomber and the Lady Jones. I'm not only helping you know who's in the crews, but I'm helping myself stay organized here. Haha. Anyways…

Ghost Bomber: Matthew Williams Jones- Pilot, Francis Bonnefoy- Copilot, Luke Johansson- Bombardier, Feliks Łukasiewicz- Radio Operator, Roderich Edelstein- Navigator, Raivis Galante- Top Turret, Feliciano Vargas- Left Wing Gunner, Lovino Vargas- Right Wing Gunner, Vash Zwingli- Ball Turret, Gilbert Beilschmidt- Tail Gunner.

Lady Jones: Alfred Frederick Jones- Pilot, Berwald Oxenstierna- Copilot, Mathias Kohler- Bombardier, Sigmund Steilsson- Radio Operator, Toris Lorinatus- Navigator, Peter Kirkland- Top Turret, Tomas Van Der Meer- Left Wing Gunner, Elliot Hedervary- Right Wing Gunner, Heracles Karpusi- Ball Turret, Ludwig Beilschmidt- Tail Gunner.

Well, on to the story. Enjoy.

**Xxx**

Around lunchtime, Alfred sat silently at his usual table, the other men on the base being more of a nuisance to his bothered mind than a cure to his annoyance. He couldn't believe that a Soviet had more confirmed kills than him. A Soviet! It was preposterous.

The American sighed a bit and shoved his tray of untouched food over to one of the privates sitting at the table.

"What's wrong, Hero? You usually eat all of your food." The private next to him asked.

"Don't think anything of it. I'm just not hungry, Johnson." Alfred replied, standing.

"You could at least stay and chat. You haven't talked a bit today." Private Johnson commented.

"I've got some things I need to sort out. I'll talk with you guys at dinner time." With that, Alfred left the table, heading over to his older brother's table. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed that Matthew wasn't there.

"What do you need, Hero?" Matthew's tail gunner Gilbert questioned, looking to him.

"Where's Ghost?" Alfred asked.

"Said he was going to go see Francis. It's been a few hours since the poor guy was shot; Ghost wanted to check up on him. Why do you ask?"

"I just want to talk with him before I head to the barracks to get some rest. Sometime before dinner, you guys up for some football? It'll be a good relief of stress."

"I'm up for it." Gilbert responded, smiling.

"I'll play." Matt's bombardier Luke said.

"I'm up for it." Vash, Matt's blonde-haired ball turret gunner raised a pointed finger slightly.

"I won't play, but I'll watch." Roderich, the rather stingy Navigator of the Ghost Bomber uttered.

"Oh come on, Roddy. You're in the USAAF, and you're afraid to get a bit dirty?" Gilbert retorted to the other crew member.

"Do yourself a favor, Gilbert, and don't bother me. I'm a bit on edge due to Francis' injury."

"He got what was coming to him." Vash cut in. "He's made a move on just about everyone on base."

"Still, he got hurt… I want to relax and try to keep it off my mind."

"It's not like he'll mind staying in the infirmary. He'll just stare at the nurses all day." Gilbert chuckled.

"Will you two be quiet? He's our copilot, for Christ's sake. You shouldn't be saying these things, especially when he's hurt."

"It was bound to happen to one of us. We weren't going to go twenty missions without a major injury." Luke commented. "We've seen guys get shot down before our very eyes. We've seen gravely injured men tossed from their planes with a parachute*. One of us in this crew was bound to be hurt. Just be glad it was Francis, and not yourself. Just be glad we aren't as mentally scarred as some crewmen. Lieutenant Oxenstierna, the Hero's copilot, has been through four different crews. Four crews. He's been in four crashes, and was the lone survivor in two of them."

"If you can imagine, he has never forgotten the crews who died. He's never forgotten those men. We go into the air, knowing there's a risk that we may very well never come back down on base. We go up, knowing we may never see our families again. Lieutenant Oxenstierna knows those risks all too well; if you want to hear the voice of someone who may come out of this war with nothing left to prove to the world, talk to him."

"It's shameful to listen to you two," Luke motioned to Vash and Gilbert. "Talk about Francis being hurt as if it's nothing. Sure, he's made a move on just about everyone on base. Sure, he's not the most likeable character around. But he's the copilot of the Ghost Bomber. He's the copilot of our bus**, and hopefully he will stay that way. Losing him would be devastating enough to our morale to get us to make a mistake."

The bickering crew was silenced by the typically quiet bombardier's voice. Gilbert sighed and shook his head, then looked to his fellow crew members.

"What do you say we go see Francis…? I… I feel terrible now about saying those things… I mean, I'm even Francis' friend…" The German-descended tail gunner said.

"Let's give Matthew some time with Francis first. Those two are best friends… One without the other is like a forest without trees." Luke replied.

"Alright…"

"Attention!" A shout came from the doors of the mess hall. Everyone stood, and turned to the men who had entered; Major Dempsey, alongside General Sullivan.

"At ease." The General said. The men in the mess hall relaxed, though they remained standing.

"I would like to inform you all of the unexpected crash landing of a Soviet fighter pilot on base this morning. His name is Ivan Braginski, he is an ace pilot, and a Captain in the Soviet Air Force." General Sullivan paced the mess hall, observing the men as he spoke about Ivan.

"I ask that you respect this man while he is residing here on base. He is recovering from wounds he received during a reconnaissance mission over Germany. He and I have conversed, and I have learned from this man of his passion for flight. He wishes to, if possible, fly alongside Americans once he is recovered. I am going to allow him to, which means, every one of you must respect him, and treat him as if he were one of us. He will be given our uniform, and no matter how wrong it seems that a Communist would wear and American uniform, you will still treat this man with respect. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." The men replied.

"Good. Now, I have something else that I would like to say. The crews of the Ghost Bomber and the Lady Jones went on a mission earlier this morning, and both crews returned after a successful mission. There was one injury on the Ghost Bomber; Lieutenant Francis Bonnefoy received an abdominal injury. He is expected to recover from his wounds, but he will receive an honorable discharge from the USAAF. We are sad to be discharging Lieutenant Bonnefoy from service, but we will wish him well. Once he is recovered, he will leave and return to the United States, where he will receive awards for his distinguished service in this war."

Visibly, the Ghost Bomber's crew showed their disappointment. Francis would not be returning to the crew.

"Major Dempsey and I ask that you give thanks to Lieutenant Bonnefoy and wish him well before he leaves the base. Now, I have nothing left to report. You may return to your meals, and further, to your work. Continue on, men." With that, General Sullivan exited, along with Major Dempsey.

Alfred sighed and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Luke crossed his arms.

"Looks like we just lost our copilot…" He muttered, sitting back down, and going back to eating his food. Gilbert took his hat off and tossed it on the table.

"Was his injury that bad? I mean… I didn't see it at all. I was too busy back in my position."

"He had been hit in the side by what I assume was shrapnel from the eighty-eight*** shells fired from the ground. If not that, then a bullet from the fighters shooting at us." Feliks Łukasiewicz, the radio operator who had been the first one to inspect and attempt to treat Francis' wound. "It didn't look lethal, but it probably caused some decent internal damage. He seemed to be in a lot of pain, so I assumed there was more damage done than what I saw…"

"Hey, I'm going to go talk to Matt. I'll see you guys later." Alfred cut in.

"Alright. See you later, Hero." Luke said.

The younger Jones brother made his exit, leaving the mess hall quickly.

As he walked down the side of the runway, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, watching planes in the sky as they went through training runs. He remembered when it was routine for him to train like that; nowadays, he scarcely trained in the air. Typically, he stuck to the ground, merely overseeing the newer pilots' training.

When he got to the infirmary, he saw, lying in one of the beds lined up against the wall, Francis Bonnefoy, bandaged and in a condition that saddened the younger Jones. Francis had bandages wrapped around his waist, and a miserable look on his face as he conversed quietly with Matthew, who had the copilot's hand grasped in his own. Alfred merely listened to their conversation for a few moments, seeing that his arrival was unnoticed.

"It's going to be a downer to fly without you by my side, Francis… The Ghost Bomber just won't be the same without you…" Matthew said, voice melancholic.

"I know it will not be the same… Believe me; I know… But you must continue on… I want the rest of you to complete the twenty-fifth mission… I want you all to finish your service, and head back home… Promise me, Matthew, that you will do it for me…" Francis pleaded, voice just as sad. It was hard to listen to.

"I promise, Francis… I promise…" Matthew replied, sounding as if he were on the borderline of crying. Alfred's suspicions of his brother's crying were confirmed when he saw Francis reach up and wipe away tears with a thumb.

"Don't cry, Matt… You're a pilot. Pilots don't cry." The elder copilot quietly remarked.

"I just… I-I hate to know that I have to lose part of my crew… M-My copilot of all things; I have to lose you… You're my best friend in this war, a-and to know I may never see you again outside of this base…"

"Calm down, mon copain… It's alright." Francis pulled the Ghost Bomber's pilot into a hug, which was accepted and returned tightly, though carefully.

Alfred made a hasty, unable to watch the scene any longer. He had to talk to Major Dempsey or General Sullivan about keeping Francis with his bomber crew.

Approaching the building which harbored Major Dempsey's office, he opened the door and walked in, looking around inside and seeing no sign of the Major. He stood in front of the desk, scratching his head, thinking of where the man could have gone.

When he heard the sound of the door opening behind him, he turned around to see the man he was looking for walk in. Dempsey gave him an odd look, cocking his head to one side.

"What're you doing here, Jones?" He asked.

"Major, I… You can't let Francis go. The Ghost Bomber; you can't take away part of it's crew… It's just wrong. Those men started from day one together, and they'll end that way. You can't take Francis out of the crew. You can discharge him… I just checked in the infirmary because I need to talk with Matt, but… He and Francis were talking and my brother was crying… He doesn't want to lose his copilot. Francis is Matt's best friend, Major." Alfred explained.

"Matthew was crying…?" Dempsey replied, stunned.

"Yes, he was. And it scared the hell out of me… Matt… He never cries. Ever. You know something's tearing him apart if he breaks down like he did in the infirmary with Francis."

"I… I don't know… I mean, General Sullivan and I have already talked to Francis, and he said it's alright if we give him the honorable discharge he deserves."

"Please, talk with Matt. You have to see his sadness with your own eyes to know how this is affecting him… It's just… It's wrong to tear apart their crew."

"… I…" The Major sighed. "Lead the way to the infirmary, Alfred, and I will speak with your brother."

Alfred nodded and led Major Dempsey to the infirmary, where Matthew and Francis still remained. Matthew had clamed down slightly, but he still was quiet and unable to fully compose himself.

"1st Lieutenant Jones; attention." Major Dempsey said, standing in front of the door to the infirmary. Matthew quickly wiped his eyes before standing up from his stool by Francis' bed, turning to the attention of the Major.

"Y-Yes, sir?" Matthew's voice was still shaky from crying, even though he tried to hide it.

"Don't try to hide your sorrow, Matthew. Tell me what's wrong, and that's an order." The Major commanded. Matt looked down, muttering quietly.

"Look at me when you speak, 1st Lieutenant, and speak louder so that I can hear you." Dempsey ordered. Matthew looked up and took a deep breath.

"Losing Lieutenant Bonnefoy i-is hard. I-I… I just haven't yet found a-a way to cope with… knowing that h-he won't be my copilot for… f-for the last five missions m-my crew has…" Even as his tears began falling, he remained looking forward, standing straight up at attention. "Francis i-is my best friend. Like a big brother t-to me, to be honest. The Ghost Bomber's crew w-would agree; w-we need Francis in order t-to function properly… W-Without him on the plane, we… We'll surely die up there i-in the skies, sir."

Major Dempsey seemed moved by the elder Jones brother's words; nearly to tears.

"I see… Lieutenant Bonnefoy; would you mind if… if I asked General Sullivan to revoke the orders for your honorable discharge, thus keeping you on the Ghost Bomber's crew…?"

Francis smiled and looked to the Major. "I wouldn't mind at all, sir."

"Very well then… I will return to the infirmary once I have spoken with General Sullivan. I am giving no guarantee that he will withdraw the order, but I promise that I will give my best efforts to persuade him."

"Thank you, Major Dempsey." Matt said, saluting the higher-ranking man.

"You're welcome, 1st Lieutenant." With that, Major Dempsey exited the infirmary. Alfred approached his shaking elder brother with a sad smile on his face.

"I… I saw you crying earlier… I had to do something for you, Matt. I may not be the best of brothers, but I can't just let your crew be torn apart like this…"

There was a short silence from the elder Jones brother, before Matt tightly hugged his younger brother.

"Thank you, Al… I-I owe you for this…"

Alfred chuckled and wrapped his arms around his brother, patting his back in a comforting manner.

"You don't owe me a thing, Matt." He said. His elder brother released him, taking a shaky breath.

"Now we just wait… and see if General Sullivan will let Francis stay."

The two brothers hung around the infirmary for about a half hour, before Major Dempsey returned. When he did, he had a smile on his face.

"Well, sir? What did the General say?" Alfred asked.

"Lieutenant Bonnefoy is back on the crew." Dempsey replied.

"What's the catch?" Matthew questioned. "There's always a catch."

"While the Lieutenant recovers, Matthew, you will need to choose a replacement copilot. The missions you conduct with the replacement will be marked as completed on both Lieutenant Bonnefoy's record, and the replacement's."

"I don't quite know any available replacements…" Matthew muttered.

"Well, there is one on base…"

"Who?"

The Major looked over at the Soviet pilot who was lying in his bed nearby, snoozing quietly.

"You've got to be kidding me." Alfred stated. "That Red is the best we have?"

"He'll be recovered enough to get out of here by tomorrow, and able to fly within another two days. He just has to learn the controls of a bomber. Matthew, you can teach him, correct?" Dempsey asked.

"Yeah, I can teach him. I just don't think anyone will be thrilled that he'll be my copilot until Francis recovers…"

"Wait, wait, wait." Alfred cut in. "What record does this guy have for a complete mission to go on?"

"We will give him documentation of the missions he completed to take back to the Soviet Union, if he goes back."

"This is utter stupidity. The General is allowing this?"

"I spoke with General Sullivan about this, and yes, he is allowing Ivan to fly."

"You guys are crazy… How're we so sure we can trust this guy?"

"We are fighting against a common enemy in this war; I'm sure Ivan will know which side he is on."

Alfred sighed and shook his head. "This is just plain ridiculous… The Ghost Bomber's crew is not going to be happy to be replacing Francis with a Red."

"I'm fine with it." Francis commented. Alfred glanced to the injured man before looking back to the Major.

"Are you sure Ivan is the best we have on base to fly in Francis' place?" He asked.

"We're sure." Major Dempsey replied.

"… If you need me, I'll be in the barracks." Alfred, discouraged by his commanding officer's decisions for a replacement copilot for his older brother's bomber crew, made his exit hastily.

He went to the barracks and sat on his bed, taking off his bomber jacket and setting it aside. He ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh of stress.

"You don't seem too thrilled today." A voice said from nearby. Alfred turned his head, now recognizing the man who had spoken to him. It was that new fighter pilot; Tino.

"Back from Kassel already?" He asked the rookie fighter pilot.

"Yeah… The bombers we were escorting all got shot down before they could get to the target. The fighters like me came back here once we realized there was no one left to defend." Tino explained.

"All fifteen of the bombers that went out to Kassel went down? That's… that's horrible…" Alfred found himself shocked that fifteen bombers had been taken down during the Kassel mission. None of them were going to be returning; a blow to the base's morale that would be hard to recover from.

"It's a rough thing to deal with… I wish my squadron could have done more, but… it was just a bad day. Two fighter pilots even had to eject over occupied Germany…"

"Who?"

"Benjamin Carlson and Virgil O'Brian."

"Man… I know those two… Back when I was a fighter, I ran quite a few missions with them… I hope they're alright…"

"I know… They were pretty wise. Told me what to do in the situations we were in… Hopefully they'll be taken as P.O.W.s**** and treated for any wounds they had…"

"Yeah… Well, Tino, good luck to you with any other missions that may come up for you. I'm going to sleep for a little while. If I'm still asleep say… an hour before dinner, wake me. I plan on playing football with some of the other men. If you want, you can join in."

"Sounds good. Sleep well, Lieutenant."

"Thanks Private. I'll see you later."

Tino walked out of the barracks, leaving Alfred alone in the building. The younger Jones laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling in thought for a while, before closing his eyes.

Sleep was something he achieved quickly.

When he awoke, it was due to a large crashing sound outside from the runway. He got up and hurried out to see what had happened, only to discover disaster.

A plane had wrecked on the runway; a bomber plane. Smoke billowed from the engines, but no fire was visibly present yet. Medic jeeps sped onto scene, while men on base exited the buildings they were in and stood around, watching the scene as the ten-man crew exited as quickly as they could. Only five of them emerged unscathed though; two were injured but could walk, and the other three were assumed dead when they were pulled from the wreckage, limp and unmoving.

"What bomber is this?" Alfred asked a nearby airman.

"Looks like one of the bombers that took off to Kassel this morning." The man said.

"I thought all fifteen of them were shot down."

"That's what I heard too."

They stood and watched for a while before the crowds around the downed bomber dispersed. Alfred went to find Major Dempsey in his office, to ask him about the Kassel mission.

"Major Dempsey, sir." He said, when he entered the office.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Major Dempsey looked up from the papers on his desk.

"What went on with the Kassel mission, and that plane…?" Alfred questioned.

"Well, I spoke with the injured pilot and copilots, and they told us what had happened. Their radio operator had been killed, and their radio had been destroyed, which cut off communications with the other bombers and fighters… In order to put engine fires in the first and third engines out, they dove down, which alarmed the other bombers and fighters, making them think they had lost them. When they came out of the dive, they were off course, and since they had no radio communications or a radio operator, and their navigator had been killed, they had to find their own way back… Thankfully, most of the crew came back safely."

"Wow… No navigator, radio operator, or radio… That's just plain unlucky…"

"But they were lucky enough to make it back as the only survivors of the mission."

"Who was the third guy who was pulled out of the plane dead?"

"Right Wing Gunner. James Brook."

Alfred nodded. "It's unfortunate that we lost so many planes today… Kassel must be a dangerous area to go to."

"Which is the reason I've come up with a plan."

"What is this plan, might I ask?"

"I'm going to be sending out twenty bombers to complete the Kassel mission, five days from now."

"How is adding more bombers going to change the mission casualty rate?"

"You and your brother's bombers are going to be leading the mission. We're also going to send out sixty fighters to escort the bombers. That's three fighters per bomber. You, in the Lady Jones, and your brother, in the Ghost Bomber, will be leading the mission, and signal when to drop the bombs over the city. You must cooperate with all twenty of your fellow bombers. Now you tell me, if there's twenty bombers flying in the skies over Kassel, how many men are at stake?"

Alfred thought for a moment before responding. "Two-hundred, total."

"Add sixty fighter pilots to that."

"Two-hundred sixty men in all, including fighter pilots."

"That means you and your brother will be in charge of two-hundred sixty men."

"… This is… this is an insane mission, sir…"

"Are you saying you can't do it?"

"No, not at all, sir… I just think maybe we should… think this through a bit more. We lost one-hundred forty-three men today, sending them to Kassel. Did you and General Sullivan talk about this?"

"I have not mentioned my plan to General Sullivan yet."

"You should, sir. I'm not second guessing your planning, but such a large operation such as the one you've just told me, should be planned out more carefully and approved of by the highest authority on base."

"I'm quite aware of this, Lieutenant."

"I just don't want to lose so many men in such a short amount of time. One-hundred forty-three men won't be going home because of the Kassel mission today. I don't want to lose nearly double that, only five days later."

"I can understand your concerns. I will speak with General Sullivan tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's not a problem, Lieutenant. Be on your way now."

Alfred saluted the Major, before making his exit, his mind refusing to wrap around the idea that he and his brother would lead almost an entire squadron of bombers to Kassel, Germany, on a mission that only seven men out of one-hundred forty-three total.

He sighed heavily and made his way to a grass clearing beside the runway, where part of Matthew's crew awaited, along with Tino, and a few other men. Berwald nodded to him, tossing him a worn-out football.

"Y' ready t' play some football, Lieutenant?" He asked. Alfred smirked; a good game of football would ease his mind.

"I am. Question is; are you, _Lieutenant?_"

**Xxx**

*"_We've seen gravely injured men tossed from their planes with a parachute._" If an injured crewmember could not be treated on the plane and there was no other option to save the man, it was recommended that they dumped them over German occupied land, to be taken as a Prisoner of War. It was thought that they would be treated for their injuries when (if), they were found.

**_bus_- WWII pilot slang referring to a plane.

***_eighty-eight_- The 88 mm gun (eighty-eight) was a German anti-aircraft and anti-tank artillery gun from World War II. It was widely used by Germany throughout the war, and was one of the most recognized German weapons of the war.

****_P.O.W.- _Prisoner of War


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Been a while, huh? Well, here's the long awaited 4th chapter. I'll shut up and let you enjoy your long awaited continuation of this story.

**Xxx**

The day of the Kassel mission came far too quickly. Alfred stood outside of his bus with his crew, nervous, hands shaking. He had never been so terrified in his life. He and Matt would be leading an insane mission with hundreds of lives at risk. This bombing run would be one for the ages, if anyone came back alive. Scouts had tried going over the city the previous night, but they had been presumably shot down.

Matthew approached quietly. "Are you ready for this, Hero?" He asked.

"No. I'm not. Not at all." Alfred replied. "This is practical suicide, Ghost… You know that right?"

"Oh I know. I'm the experienced bomber here. I just can't believe the Major had the bright idea to inform me last night of what we would be doing today. The gall, I swear. If he weren't a superior, I'd knock his teeth in… He's put so many lives at risk all for one heavily defended Nazi production city. Yes, it's tactical to destroy it and the facilities within, but damn, we're sending a lot through the air with a lot at risk. Trust me, no one is ready for it." Matthew crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Mission number twenty three… Going to go down in history, I'm sure."

"Wait, you're on twenty three?" Alfred was caught off guard, not having remember what mission number Matt was on. "You've got two to go, and… I'm on twenty one… Four more after this one."

"I know that."

"I didn't even know… didn't remember, at least. I…" Alfred sighed. "I really hope we get through this."

"We may not, Hero." Matt replied.

"You're jinxing us big time by saying that, Ghost."

"I don't believe that words can change the way things will go… People will die on this mission. I want you to realize that, Alfred." Matthew looked his brother in the eyes. "We aren't invincible, even if we're on our closing missions. We've survived this long, but it's only a matter of time, and if there's anywhere that we're going down in flames, it's Kassel."

Alfred looked down. "How long until we hit the strip?"

"Half an hour. You should get everyone ready for takeoff."

"Yeah… Good luck, Matt. See you in the skies."

Matthew nodded his head and walked off to his own bomber. Alfred rounded up his crew and sat in the pilot's seat. Berwald sat next to him and reached into the jacket he adorned, pulling out a cross necklace. He brought it to his lips and kissed it before tucking it away silently.

"Everyone check in." Alfred said over the radio as his crew got settled.

"Bombardier, check."

"Radio Operator, check."

"Navigator, check."

"Top turret, check."

"Left wing, check."

"Right wing, check."

"Ball turret, check."

"Tail gunner, check."

"C'pilot, check." Berwald said, looking to Alfred, who smirked a bit.

"Alright, everyone is in check… Standby to fly."

Time passed agonizingly slow, the engines roaring on the runway as bombers readied up to fly. Matthew was the first to takeoff when the signal was given, then Alfred and slew of others. Sixty fighters and twenty bombers were soon all in the air, an intimidating formation in the clouds.

Matthew came over the radio, speaking to all.

"Alright boys, let's make this a good one. We all know the mission. Bomb the daylights out of Kassel. Fighters, do your jobs and protect these beauties from harm. We all know the stakes. Keep as calm as possible and just focus on the mission as much as you can. I'm counting on you all. Let's do this right. I'm ending communications until we get near the target. Good luck to all two hundred fifty nine of you guys."

Alfred sighed and stared out the windshield in front of him. Nothing but clouds. He glanced over his shoulder. "How's everyone holding up back there?" He asked.

"Just fine." Sigmund responded. "Don't worry about us, Hero."

"You know I will. You guys aren't my crew for nothing."

"Don't get all sappy on us, Hero. You'll make the plane all sticky." Peter joked, eliciting some chuckles from the crew. It was lighthearted despite the heavy weight on their shoulders. This was going to be a rough mission. Alfred knew it.

He looked back to what was in front of him and tried to just think of lading the plane back on base without a hitch, but he knew better. Something was going to happen, he just knew it. He felt it in his head, his heart, his gut… Hell, his entire body just felt it.

As they drew nearer and nearer to Kassel, communications once again became open. In a flash, things went from anxious and silent minus the rumbling of the engines and the whirring of the propellers, to chaos. Enemy fighters came from below; radar must have caught the USAAF fighters and bombers.

The fighters sped through the skies as machineguns fired. Bullets clinked off of armor, and Alfred gripped tightly to the wheel. "Watch your tails, boys!" He warned as the German fighters circled around. He heard Ludwig firing from the back, and grit his teeth. Airmen communicated from all around the formation, zeroing in on the targets and attempting to protect themselves. All Alfred could do was sit and listen and watch. He didn't know how Matthew did this for twenty two missions. It was nerve-wracking and frustrating and it made you feel so helpless.

The enemy fighters soon backed off, retreating into the distance. The fighters and bombers of the USAAF formation regrouped and organized themselves, assessing damage and tending to a few wounded airmen. One of the fighters had been shot down, but it looked like he had ejected in time.

They drew closer to Kassel, the resistance growing stronger. Enemy fighters grew in larger numbers and stronger in power and more skilled in pilot. More USAAF fighters were shot down, and one bomber was taken down.

It seemed like an eternity of cacophony before the target came into view. 88's and other anti-air cannons and artillery fired from below and exploded all around. Enemy fighters twirled and sped through the skies, chasing after the friendlies and firing at the bombers. As bombs were beginning to be dropped, a panic came over the radio.

"Ghost is hit! I repeat, Ghost is hit!" A Russian accent came over the radio. Alfred tensed up, gripping the wheel harder than he'd ever before.

"How bad is it, Red?!" He questioned.

"Two shots-" Some static cut off the transmission for a moment. "Losing blood-" Another cutoff, then static and silence from the Ghost Bomber. Alfred grit his teeth.

"Does anyone have eyes on the Ghost Bomber?!" He asked, panicked and scared. Berwald pressed a few buttons and took control of the plane on his own, noting that Alfred could have just lost his brother.

"This is Redcat, we have eyes on the Ghost Bomber. Two engines down, first and fourth. Lots of hull damage. Still flying though."

Alfred shook his head. "Hang in there, Matt…" He muttered, before taking control again. He had a mission to finish. When the bombs were all dropped and the run was finished, he gave the order to scatter and escape.

"Let's get out of here, boys!"

And so the formation split and fled. Once out of enemy airspace, the damage was fully assessed. Twelve bombers hadn't made it out, and only seventeen fighters remained. The mission had been a success, but at what cost? Up to one hundred and sixty three lives could have been lost. Most of them probably were. And that wasn't counting the possible casualties of the injured men on board the remaining few bombers and fighters.

The Ghost Bomber was still in the air. That was all Alfred knew for sure. Their radio was likely destroyed since no communication whatsoever came from the men aboard. All Alfred could hear was the stupid Red's voice over the radio, informing that Matthew had been wounded. Two shots apparently, and loss of blood. It mattered where the shots were and how much blood was being lost. Alfred was thinking so much about the possibilities of Matt being dead that he almost drove the plane down out of formation. Berwald quickly counteracted that and looked to Alfred.

"We're n't invincible, Hero." He said.

Time passed agonizingly slow as the fighters and bombers returned to base after the long, devastating mission. Crowds of airmen were outside of every building and waiting along the strip, as well as medical vehicles to take wounded to the infirmary.

When Alfred landed his bomber and shut down the engines, he hurried out and sprinted to where the Ghost Bomber had landed. He helped get Matthew out of the plane; it was clear that his older brother was severely wounded. His clothes were soaked in blood from two bullet wounds. Exactly where the wounds were was hard to determine.

Matthew was carted off to the infirmary, and Alfred went to follow the medical personnel, but Berwald grabbed his arm.

"Y' can't d' anything, Hero." He stated. "All any 'f us can d' is wait it out."

Alfred shook his head, and his brother disappear into the infirmary across the runway. He turned his head to look at Berwald, but looked past him to Ivan, who was emerging from the Ghost Bomber.

"You." Alfred scowled, pushing past Berwald and approaching the Russian ace. He was blinded by hurt and rage that his only brother was hurt, and could possibly die. He was angry at the war for taking so many lives, angry at the Nazis and everyone involved, and angry as well at the Communists he so despised. He shoved Ivan as he got close.

"Why did you let it happen?!" He cried out, not realizing the tears streaming down his cheeks. He was far beyond upset, and Ivan was his scapegoat to blame for the tragedy of his brother's injury.

Ivan stood firm. "I had nothing to do with Ghost's wounding, comrade."

"Don't you call me comrade, you Commie fuck!" Alfred launched a punch at the taller man, but it was blocked and the American man was shoved to the ground.

"I was the first one to apply pressure. The first one to aid your injured sibling. The first one to try to help him. I don't see how any of this could be my fault anyways, Hero. He is a casualty of the war."

Alfred sat there on the ground, shaking his head in disbelief. Matthew couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was so close to the end of his run in the USAAF, so close to getting out of the war and going home. It couldn't end this way.

Berwald, the caring figure to Alfred's broken mentality, hoisted the pilot to his feet and forced him towards the barracks. "G' lie down and clear your head, Hero. Y' are n't going t' get anywh're b' attacking anyone. Y' just need t' wait. Listen t' m'."

"B-But Matt-" Alfred started to say. Berwald silenced him.

"Matthew will b' fine. I know 't in m' heart and mind. Just worry about y'rself right now, Alfred." He said, walking with the crying American to the barracks. He made sure that Alfred lay down before leaving the barracks to tend to other duties.

Alfred cried into his pillow, feeling weaker than he'd ever felt before. He wanted to believe Berwald that Matt would be okay. He wanted to believe that his brother would pull through. He wanted his brother to go home and be safe from the war. God, he just wanted the killing to end.

He didn't know when he had drifted into sleep, but when he awoke, it was to the voice of Berwald once again. He'd been hearing a lot from the concerned Swede. He knew that the copilot was only being compassionate and selfless, though it was strange to see from such an intimidating man.

"Alfred." He said as he shook the pilot's shoulder. "Major Dempsey wants t' see y'."

Alfred slowly sat up, gathering his things and heading out of the barracks into the quiet night without another word. As he walked along, he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, sighing the smoke from his lungs. Other airmen watched him walk, and he could practically feel their eyes boring into him like daggers.

When he arrived at Major Dempsey's office, he was expecting the worse. He knocked before entering, and looked to the Major.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Dempsey nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant. We're going to speak freely here. Listen… Berwald and Ivan explained to me what happened on the mission, and I want to express my deepest condolences for your brother's injuries. I understand you two are very close as brothers… I do hope he survives. But… I spoke with General Sullivan about you and your brother. You both are incredible airmen, and we have agreed to honorably discharge you both. You have done more than your fair share of work, with exemplary behavior and beyond incredible status. You've earned the praise of the General himself, and… Well, he wants to award your brother with not only a Purple Heart, but a Medal of Honor as well. He is also considering medals for you. Perhaps not Medal of Honor or a Purple Heart, but definitely some very credible achievements."

Alfred took a moment to process the information given to him. Matthew had gone above and beyond in his service, and he had been wounded, so the Medal of Honor and Purple Heart were definitely in order, but he himself didn't think he deserved anything. At least, not at this moment in time. He was all too focused on his brother's wellbeing.

"I… Thank you, sir, but… I don't deserve a thing." He responded. "I… I'm not half as great as my record shows."

"Alfred, look me in the eyes. You're the greatest fighter pilot I've seen the entire time I've been on this base. I watched you from day one and saw you excel in everything you've ever done for us. Matthew has done the same. You can't sit here and tell me you don't deserve praise and award, as well as an honorable discharge for the incredible service you've done to not just the United States, but the world as a whole."

Alfred bowed his head. "I'm just worried about my brother, sir."

"We all are, Alfred. We all are."


	5. Chapter 5

That night, Alfred didn't sleep. He couldn't. He was too worried.

When everyone was awoken in the morning, Alfred was already up and getting dressed. Some of the other airmen tried to talk to him but he paid them no mind. He barely had his uniform properly worn as he hurried out the door, heading straight for the infirmary. He had to see Matthew. No one else mattered to him right now. He didn't care about eating or the sleep he hadn't gotten. His brother was of the utmost importance in his thoughts.

When he opened the door and walked in, one of the medics looked to him. "Hero, what can I do for you?"

Alfred stared at the man. "What do you think I'm here for? My brother. He was wounded. You know, Ghost? Where is he?"

"He's…" The medic sighed heavily. "I'll be honest with you, sir. He hasn't woken up. He's alive, but we don't know if he'll stay with us. We've done everything we can and are watching him closely… If you'd like to see him, he's down the hall on the first room on the right…"

Alfred stepped quickly down the hall and turned into the room. There were two female nurses in the room; one reading a chart while the other pressed buttons on a machine that Matthew was hooked up to.

Alfred walked over, frowning. Matthew lay still and silent, hair a mess, his body covered by a thin blanket. Alfred didn't want to see what was beneath it. He didn't want to bear the scars of seeing how bad it really was.

One of the nurses turned to Alfred. "Morning, sir… I'm assuming you're his brother?"

Alfred nodded, softening his voice. This wasn't a place to be angry, no matter how much he wanted to scream and hit everything and wonder why on Earth this had to happen to his brother. "Yeah… I am."

"Here… I'm going to give you his belongings." The woman walked over to a shelf, retrieving a paper bag. "His uniform was… unsalvageable. But here's what he had on him."

She handed the bag over. Alfred pulled up a chair beside his brother's bed and opened the bag, curious to see what his brother had. There was a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a necklace with a ring on it… Strange. Alfred had never seen this before. It wasn't a wedding ring or anything, but it certainly raised some questions about where Matthew had gotten it. He'd have to ask when his brother woke up. At this point, he wasn't going to let the idea that Matthew may not wake up get to him. Positive thinking may have been a good idea if he wanted to stay sane while Matthew's life was in God's hands.

The other items in the bag were a few miscellaneous trinkets that Matt had likely picked up along his service. There was even a little piece of metal he had carved a face into to make it look like a cartoon-esque ghost. Alfred sighed, smiling very slightly at the little ghost. With luck, maybe the real one would come back.

Alfred sat with his brother for a few hours. There were tears and moments where Alfred snapped at the nurses when they spoke to him, but they understood. Major Dempsey came to the infirmary around lunchtime and came into the room. Alfred stood slowly and went to attention, face red, eyes puffy and bloodshot.

"Yes, sir…?" He asked.

"Hero, you need to eat. Lieutenant Oxenstierna told me you skipped out on breakfast to come here." Dempsey's voice wasn't that of aggravation, but more of concern. "Go eat lunch with your crew. That's an order. Once you're done you can come back to your brother."

"Yes, sir…" Alfred muttered. He walked past the Major silently, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants and meandering out of the infirmary. As much as he hated to admit it, he was rather hungry. His concern for his brother was more prevalent in his mind though.

He got to the mess hall and went into line to get his food. The other airmen in the mess hall averted their stares when Alfred glanced in their direction. They all knew what had happened. Ghost had been injured, Hero had flipped out on the Russian, and so on so forth. Once he had his food he went to the table where his crew sat, eating quietly. He looked to Berwald.

"I wouldn't have left that infirmary if you hadn't said anything to the Major, Ox."

"I kn'w. But y' can't g' skipp'ng meals. Y' need t' eat, wound'd br'ther or n't." Berwald almost seemed like more of a father to Alfred rather than a copilot and fellow serviceman, but Alfred appreciated it greatly.

"Yeah, I know… I just..." The blonde fighter pilot sighed, shaking his head. "I just can't believe that happened… to Ghost of all people… I mean… I knew the risks of it all but I can't wrap my head around it… Why couldn't it have been that Commie? Just a foot and a half to the right and it would have been that Russian bastard dying instead of my brother."

A voice piped up from behind Alfred. "He's got a family too, you know." It was Francis, the former copilot of the Ghost bomber. He was still injured and unable to fly, but he was up and about now.

Alfred turned and narrowed his vision at the Frenchman. "Does it matter to you, Bonnefoy?"

"Yes. Wishing death upon someone is a terrible thing. Even if he's a Soviet. He has family back in Russia who may believe him to be dead right now. He may have a brother that he's lost. He may have sisters at home worried sick that they'll never see him again. A mother that wished that sons never went to war. A father proud of the sacrifice, but torn to shreds on the inside. I know you hate the man and you blame him for what happened to your brother, but Red is only human."

Alfred stood from his place. "I won't stand here and listen to you berate me for caring about my brother and wishing that hadn't happened to him!" Now all that pent-up frustration was coming out.

"I'm not berating you for caring about him, Hero. I care about him as well." Francis crossed his arms. "But you need to calm down and eat. Sit back down and stop acting like a child. Your brother is injured, oui, but at least you can be there for him. When I was injured, did you see my brother by my side? When Red was injured, did you see his? No. You're lucky. You can actually be there for Matthew. Just think of what he would want you to do and what he would think of you if he saw you acting so immature as to attempt to be imposing to his copilot. You may be called Hero, but you need to save yourself before you save others…" With that, Francis walked off, out of the mess hall.

The other soldiers had turned to the scene, watching the unraveling situation before them. Alfred sighed shakily, clenching his fists. He was frustrated, angry, hurt, and he felt like everyone expected him to not be upset and not need someone to blame for the wounding of his dear brother.

Alfred quickly left the mess hall. He didn't care. He didn't want the eyes boring into him, the questioning looks, the words from his crewmates that he likely wouldn't want to hear. He usually was fine with the attention he received, but there was nothing that could comfort him until he knew Matthew was going to wake up. He'd seen guys with pretty terrible wounds get pulled out of their planes, be expected to recover, but suddenly lose their life to something that was out of the nurse's hands.

Before he got to the infirmary, a hand grasped his shoulder and stopped him. Alfred quickly turned around, and as soon as he saw who it was, his rage boiled over. His vision was as red as the man who stood before him.

"You!" The Hero shoved the tall Russian man, who raised his hands slightly to show he meant know threat. "What the hell do you want?!"

"I just wanted to ask how Ghost was doing, comrade. Calm down…" Red's voice was quiet and passive, but Alfred wanted nothing to do with the man he blamed for getting his brother hurt.

"He's not awake yet. He was severely wounded. And you're still to blame." Alfred glared at the man.

"How am I to blame, Hero? I have done nothing wrong. I was his copilot, and I was helping him the entire time. I had my hands on his wounds as soon as I saw he was injured. Then I had one of the others do it because I had to pilot the plane. These things happen when we're in the sky, Hero. You know that. You can't be mad at me because of something the Nazis did. You should only be mad at them, not me. And if it's because I come from a Communist country that you hate me, just know that I am not my government."

"I am a man with a family just like you. I had two sisters back home who dreaded the day I left to join the Soviet Air Force. My older sister joined the Air like myself, because she wanted to experience everything I have. She wanted to know, wanted to serve, wanted to do the things that no woman had done before. Katarina was killed by the Nazis; her plane was shot down. I had to be the one to identify her body, charred and mangled. She used to be so beautiful… Blonde hair and blue eyes. But she died to them and I swore to take out every Nazi fighter possible to avenge her. My other sister volunteered to fight for the Red Army. She was killed as well. And I couldn't be there for either funeral. I couldn't be there to say goodbye."

"So when you look at me and blame me for your brother's injury, know that I know tragedy far greater than an injured sibling. I know death. I know sorrow. I know hating myself for not having been able to do more than just walk into an overfilled morgue, identify a mangled corpse and leave to continue my missions. I know my hatred for the Nazis. I know they are to blame for starting this war and beginning the slaughtering of innocent lives. So take it from me, Hero, your rage is understood but directed towards the wrong person… Go see your brother, but every time you look at him be thankful that he is still breathing. Because there is no pain greater than seeing the corpse of a loved one." With that, Ivan turned and began to walk off. Alfred stared at him, watched him go. He felt like his heart had just been pierced by a fishing hook, and torn out of his chest. How wrong he had been about that Soviet.

He slowly made his way down the side of the runway, watching a few planes take off. Each time he blinked, behind his eyes he saw wreckage. He saw blood and bodies and now he knew he had been so selfish. No matter who someone was; they had a family too. They had loved ones. They would never see them again. Alfred felt the tension pull hard enough to snap chains; he was really starting to feel not just the heavy burden of sorrow for the many comrades he'd seen die and thought nothing of, but the guilt of being wrong. The aching feeling in his head and chest. That unfamiliar fish hook dragging his heart though the murky waters of war. These things happened, but for so long, Alfred had only felt bad about not being able to save the soldiers on his side of the war, but a radical idea crossed his mind of what was going on down on the ground where the bombs he set free landed. Those Nazis down there, as insanely wrong as their brainwashing ideology was, were still human beings who had families.

He knew that there had been bombings on civilian targets in many German cities. That was who those people were; Germans. Not Nazis. They were people still. They were just like the Americans, just like the Brits, just like everyone else, but on the other side of a brick wall being built by propaganda and lies. It was a painful realization. Everyone he'd been killing, everyone he'd ever shot down… That was a life he'd taken of a son, likely a brother, and a lover. He'd taken away a proud piece of a family. Destroyed a mother's heart. Shattered a father's hopes.

What kind of a man called himself the "Hero", when he was shooting people out of the sky? Weren't heroes supposed to save people in their time of need and show mercy? Weren't they supposed to be the good guys, even to the bad guys?

Alfred didn't realize the tears on his cheeks until he'd sat down in the infirmary with his brother. He grasped Matthew's hand and held it tight.

"Matt… I'm so sorry…" He apologized for nothing. Perhaps it had been for how stupid he'd always been. For how he never quite treated Matthew right when they were kids. Maybe it was just to cover everything. Every mistake he'd ever made; he wanted to make up for them.

He held tight to the hand in his own and cried. The two nurses averted their eyes as they left the room. It must have been heartbreaking to see Alfred so weak in the face of his brother's near death.

As he sobbed and clutched the Ghost's hand, suddenly, the hand squeezed back ever so slightly. Alfred looked to Matthew's face.

"M-Matt?" He said, in hope, his voice shaky. Matthew groaned quietly and took his hand away to clutch what was likely a strong pain in his abdomen.

"A-Al… God damn… Get the nurses…" That was all Alfred could understand. There were a few other words in there somewhere, but they were mumbled and indistinguishable. The Hero stood quickly and peeked out into the hallway, spotting one of the nurses chatting with one of the male medics.

"Hey, stop your flirting and get in here! Ghost is awake!" Alfred went back into the room as soon as he saw the nurse leave her conversation and hurry back down the hall to Matthew. She quickly assessed his wounds and administered what Alfred assumed were painkillers. He walked to the side opposite of the nurse and took his brother's hand. Matthew was squeezing hard, face twisted in pain.

"I-I thought I was a goner, Al… I'm in so much pain… but I'm s-so glad for it… I-I've never been happier to feel like this…" Matt mustered a pained smile, and Alfred smiled back slightly.

"T-Talk to me, Alfred… Don't let m-me sleep again…" The Ghost muttered, looking to his brother.

"Well… The nurse gave me what you had on you… and I'm curious… Who gave you that ring and necklace?"

"F-Francis gave me that ring… a-as a gift… and a token of his appreciation… f-for everything I've done… a-and Ivan gave me th-the necklace… S-Said it was…" Matthew paused to get through a wave of pain, then continued. "S-Said it was… his… g-good luck charm… H-He thought I was r-really nice… T-Told me he didn't want a-anything happening to a pilot l-like me… Said I-I reminded him of someone dear to him wh-who had died…" Another pause. "Said that h-he didn't have m-much left to live for… S-So he didn't need it as much as I did..."

Alfred took the necklace from his pocket and put it in Matthew's hand. "Likely reminded you of his sisters… They died fighting the Nazis… He told me one had blonde hair and blue eyes, like you."

"Y-You talked to him…?"

"Not really… I… Well, I've been so angry and upset that you were injured… I blamed him, because he's communist and whatnot… and… He just kind of… lectured me, but not in a bad way. It made me realize a lot that I hadn't thought about before. Everyone who died in this war has a family, you know? I was getting so hostile towards everyone because of your injury… when I'm lucky to have you still. You're still alive… Many don't even get the chance to see their siblings. But I've been by your side, and… I'm lucky."

Matthew nodded slightly. "Th-This is war, Alfred… It's never a battle between people, a-as much as it is between governments… Soldiers a-and airmen and s-seamen are just tossed into the equation and f-forced to fight for what they've been taught i-is right… but it's the same w-way for our enemies. We just have t-to keep on going until the end of the war, o-or until we meet our end. It's a realization I h-had a long time ago, back when I-I had to bomb a city that had a lot of civilians in it… W-We have to do our best to think r-rationally while doing the most irrational a-act known to man… War is a s-sick game between governments. Like chess. And w-we're the pawns."

Alfred sighed lightly. "Hopefully this war will end soon… For us it's over. We're both getting honorably discharged. But… for the other guys… I can only hope they make it out alive."


End file.
